


The Spider and The Wyrm

by JaxxCapta



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, F/M, Negotiations, PK and Herrah do not like each other really, Politics, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaxxCapta/pseuds/JaxxCapta
Summary: Hornet was not born of mutual love. Neither was Hollow. Both hatched into duty, with responsibility looming over them.Hollow's very purpose denied them anything but the most disguised and fleeting of affections.Yet, as they watch their father negotiate with the final Dreamer, agreeing to bring their sibling into the world so they could be sealed away and the child could lose their mother, they know their sibling's life will be different. Born into Deepnest's shadows instead of the Abyss, with a mother and a caretaker and a family at the White Palace who did not have to ensure they grew up without personhood...There are many steps before they can meet their sibling, though.





	1. Initial Offer

The offer came on the fifth day of negotiations.

The Pale King had set aside a full week to argue with the Beast. She took no insult, suffered no indignity. The Hollow Knight watched as he tried to work her, needling her from every angle. Threats - all from the outside source of the infection, of course, not him – to bribes, to flattery. None of it worked.

Hollow held no surprise. A Pure Vessel did not. The Pale King was singular among the local sovereign states, they had heard that since they entered the White Palace. What purpose did a being like him have to stoop to the others' levels?

Until the Mantis Village threatened Hallownest's territory, the Hive refused to establish more than the most basic trade, and the King needed another Dreamer. Monomon and Lurien were strong in mind well beyond a normal bug. A rarity, even among Hallownest's extensive population.

When the White Lady pointed out Herrah's fortitude, it had seemed a blessing for the harrowed King. If he could not seal Hollow, then years of work went to waste, and he would lose innumerable more people to the infection while he developed and scrutinized more Vessels. Even then, the Vessels relied on the Dreamers. No simple binding spell would contain god and Void.

Herrah must have sensed the King's desperation when he came to her. To not see it would be foolish, and would have cost her so much already. The infection had yet to touch Deepnest - as far as she cared, she had the advantage to an incredible degree.

So when she sat down across from the King and Hollow, contemplating, it gave the King pause. He waited (as did Hollow, without any other order than to follow the King) for her to speak, to play her hand.

“I want a child.” Herrah watched them over her arms, folded before her face. “I want it to be yours.”

The air changed. Shock crackled down the King's flowing wings. His sharp intake of breath cut into the tension, pulling it closer around them all.

Hallownest had no heir. It needed no heir. The Pale King and White Lady, in theory, remained childless. The sea of Void washing up against the thousands of their siblings' broken masks said otherwise, but a Vessel was not a child.

And half the point of this was to cripple Deepnest without their queen. Without her, it would be a matter of a few political maneuvers to claim it, as officially part of Hallownest or as a separate territory. Either way, they'd gain the Weavers' silk.

“Hallownest needs no successors.” The words dripped from the Pale King's mouth, his eyes narrowing. His fingers laced together, and he straightened his back. It wouldn't get him anywhere near Herrah's height, but that was what Hollow was here for. Demonstration, yes, and intimidation. Though little intimidated the denizens of Deepnest.

“You are not the only royal present, Pale King.” Herrah's voice reverberated through her thorax, coming out just above a growl. She scrutinized the Hallownest entourage, eyes prying under the carapace. There was nothing to find under Hollow. Only Void. “I did not ask for your throne, I asked for your fatherhood, provided you can give it.”

“Of course I can,” the King muttered. He said nothing about the White Lady, or the Vessels, did not even glance Hollow's way. “Does nobody else in Deepnest satisfy you as a sire?”

“When I could claim to have bred a god? My child's place would be indisputable. Backed by the Devout and your blood in their veins, I could Dream for you untroubled.” She leaned in, almost across the table, as if to draw the Pale King onto her that very moment. A threat, then. She would not weaken Deepnest like he hoped.

The king of Hallownest and queen of Deepnest bristled at each other, each composing their own ways to sting the other into submission.

“Is there nothing else you wish?” The Pale King might as well have begged. He lost, he had nothing else to suggest for her. Nothing to give her but himself. They walked into this at a disadvantage. Of course Herrah would take the highest price she could for her own life, and for the safety of her queendom.

Mere minutes into the day's work, and they had reached this point.

Was the King this desperate, or was the Beast's guile so-

A Pure Vessel did not bother with the politicking of the courts. Hollow's grip tightened ever so slightly on the hilt of their nail.

“No. You come to my lands and ask me to give up everything for you and Hallownest-”

“The infection _will_ spread here.” The Pale King's voice was tight enough it could have been plucked like a string.

“For now, you ask me to give everything for you and for Hallownest. All I ask of you is one viable egg and the wherewithal not to let the creature within suffer alone while I keep this one-” She gestured to Hollow - “In check. Is that a sufficient trade for you?”

The Pale King's thoughts churned. Herrah did not fidget, did not lean in, while he deliberated with himself. She sat back, patient, the perfect spider watching her prey squirm in her web.

And yet, could she withstand the snap of a wyrm's jaws?

He folded his hands neatly up against his stomach.“I accept this. Let me return to the White Lady and discuss matters with her, if you would be so understanding. For a life, a life.”


	2. Completing Negotiations

There were, of course, more discussions afterwards on when exactly the Pale King would return. Always more discussions.

They had a month before Herrah wished to conceive. Another week before that to hammer out the details of the arrangement. The King protested, seeking for another month.

She had laughed, a low and gravelly sound. “Are you certain you want that? The Devout begin their rut then, you might be too enticing. Or threatening. Unless you want our child to have half-siblings or you want to be batted through the tunnels like a ball, next month. For your sake.”

“You're buying every scrap of time you can with this... concept of a child,” the King had accused.

She did not deny him. But neither could the King confirm whether or not she told the truth about the Devout, and he had seen them skulking in their tunnels, same as Hollow. Even for him, it would be too easy to be overpowered, and letting Hollow attack them would do little but earn the ire of any nearby Devouts and Herrah herself.

So he and Hollow returned to the White Palace. They approached the White Lady before anything else, with the King presenting the conundrum. He did not wish her to find him unfaithful, if she refused this he would scour the kingdom for another potential Dreamer. Nor did he want an heir. Truly. Hollow noticed how the White Lady's eyes brightened when he said “child,” as if one would pave the way for her.

She permitted him this dalliance, her words so soft. For the good of Hallownest. For the good of the Pure Vessel. On the surface, she said kind things, sweet things. Hollow could not deny the thinnest bitter edge to everything she spoke.

When they went out in public, the White Lady preferred to personally fuss with their cloak and armor. She had done this since they were small and barely fit anything, yet she would still find the time and need to readjust the drape of their cloak, or polish some spot off their mask.

Visiting Herrah the second time around was no exception. They were a beacon of hope to the entirety of the states, so she told them while she used a tendril-like root to scrub right below their eye. They had to be presentable.

She held their face longer than she was supposed to, according to the King's guidelines. She looked them over, seeking out any spot, scratch, or other flaw to justify herself. Her roots pressed in, so lightly, making up for the fact they did not sink into her touch. A Pure Vessel did not indulge in affection.

Their fingers dug into their palm. A Pure Vessel did not _wish_ to indulge in affection.

Do not wish.

Do not hope.

Do not think.

Do not.

The entire way to Deepnest, they kept a steady pace, a step behind the Pale King. It was not a long trek from the Basin into Deepnest, but the path to Herrah's village was more treacherous than any other territory around. Its denizens peered out, dancing across their invisibly thin webs, clinging to the walls, lurking in side tunnels.

None of Deepnest's tunnels were sized to fit something Hollow's size. Very little was, almost entirely confining them to the Palace and open-air environments. They had to hunch and, in places, crawl, horns scraping and catching on everything. The White Lady's work, undone in seconds, minutes at the most.

The King sighed, perhaps with relief and perhaps at the weight of all the work he had to do, when they reached the village. Here Hollow could straighten up and shake off some of the dirt and rocks, attracting the attention, whispers, and snickers of a few nearby residents. Unacceptable for the Pale King. With a sharp click, he motioned for Hollow to lean down. They obeyed, and much like his wife, he took to fussing over them. Where the White Lady's touch lingered, he moved at a rapid pace, shaking things out, brushing them off, resorting to dampening his thumb with spit to scrub away a particularly stubborn spot between their eyes.

“Right now, straighten up.”

They obeyed. He examined them, the low warmth of pride shining in his eyes. “Handsome.” He turned around and began the trek towards the center of the village. “As is befitting of anything to come from the White Palace,” he added briskly, like the plain compliment would break their unthinking composure.

Compliments did not affect a Pure Vessel.

The Pale King unfurled his wings and, with a few strong beats, flew up into the cluster of woven homes. Hollow grabbed the nearest ledge and began the climb.

Herrah met them at the entrance to her den, hands folded behind her back. “I see you brought your shadow again. What say you, shadow? Are you ready to sit and watch us argue over particulars again?”

“The Vessel does not speak,” said the Pale King. He almost crossed the threshold, but that would have involved squeezing past Herrah, so he held out a hand to her. “Shall we continue our business?”

She eyed his offered hand before taking it up in hers as dancers did at the balls Hollow had attended alongside the royal couple, leading him inside. At first she eyed Hollow as they followed, but she adjusted to their presence and continued talking to the King. “Holding hands? Your queen is so permissive. You have a week until you need to seduce me, you know.”

“I would rather not find my own mind blocking me from action when that time comes.”

“I would offer to be as gentle to you as my departed sire was to me, but I would not wish to snap your pretty shell. Though, having seen your queen before, perhaps that risk is what entices you.”

“She is not an ordinary bug,” he grumbled. “It does not work that way with her.”

“Then I will teach you. Business arrangement or not, we might as well try to enjoy it, even if we're not enjoying each other in particular. We will be doing business for a good while, after all. I'd hate to be miserable the whole time.”

The King sighed heavily. Herrah had suggested he take a few days after the negotiations for the actual business to commence, and another for “recovery.” If they finished negotiating early, business began early, but Herrah showed no interest in simply shifting things over so the King could leave early. “Shall we discuss the concerns about the _result?”_

“We shall.” Herrah led them back to the room the three had spent so long in to negotiate the original deal. She settled into her place, watching while Hollow and the Pale King did the same. “First, when I begin to Dream, the White Palace will provide arrangements to ensure the child's proper care. This _will_ include either living in or ready access to Deepnest.”

“Then let me build the stag station,” The Pale King said, plain as day. As if this was a cheery suggestion and not something Hallownest and Deepnest had been fighting over for years.

Herrah growled at the idea, her mandibles working. But it would be an easy guarantee of access, no matter where in Hallownest her child happened to be at a given time. At least, on the surface. The stations remained plentiful, but the number of stags dwindled; only twice had there been instances of a stag falling to the infection, but more were killed by infected bugs, and some just... disappeared. “The station's construction must wait until my child is either able to remember Deepnest as it is, or I begin to Dream.”

“Whichever comes first? You ask for a long delay, Herrah.” The King drummed on his cheek, watching for anything else he could pick at and make her slip up. “Years for memories to begin, and I cannot guarantee when the moment will come for the Dreamers to take their stations.”

“My child deserves to know how it has been since Deepnest's beginnings.”

Begrudging agreement to the station acquired, the two turned to other details. What counted as sufficient support after Herrah began to Dream. What would happen if either Deepnest or Hallownest were too incapacitated to provide care if the child were too young to be at all self-sufficient. Whether the child would learn about their parentage or not.

“You couldn't simply have a random child wandering around your palace for no reason. They will suspect. They might as well know from the start.”

“The sooner they know, the sooner they actively plan around it.” The King frowned, eyes narrowing as if he tasted something bitter.

“Would you rather make them resent you for keeping it a secret from them? That sounds like a worse way to go about it. They're mad at you, they decide you're a bad person, they start planning...” Herrah rested her head in her hand and with a finger drew designs over the table. “If they know early, they can adjust more easily to not being heir of Hallownest.”

In the end, they concluded the child would be aware from the start. But then the Pale King wanted partial custody before Herrah began Dreaming.

“You would seek to limit what time I will have with them further?” Hollow saw the tint of actual venom in her mouth as she spoke, so strong was her anger. Her fingers dug into the table's surface, her shoulders shaking with rage.

“As you said with their heritage, it is a matter of adjusting.” The Pale King, in contrast, kept his tone cool as ice, his expression as sterile as the inside of the Palace. “How painful would it be for them to lose you and be whisked away from home to somewhere they had never been, where they knew nobody? This is for them, Herrah.”

“I thought you didn't want an heir? Why would you bring to the palace if you're so adamant about them not even knowing who you are to them?” A spot of clear venom flicked onto the table between them. All parties pretended it hadn't happened, though it may well have been another component of a threat.

“I acquiesced on that. In this matter, I seek to mitigate emotional damage done by the transition they will face.” Likely true, to some degree. To a greater degree had to be influence. If the child was to know they were his anyways, he might as well exert some control. He would father this child, and when they did come to rule Deepnest, he would have a connection and be more able to get his way in regards to it. But, as Herrah pointed out, she would only have so much time with them, and he could not guarantee how much that was.

They spent two days on custody alone, working out every minute detail. The King was willing to cede some matters, and Herrah was happy to take any and all time she could. She would not let her child fall to the Pale King's influence, and bring Deepnest down with it.

And, perhaps, she loved them already.

Towards the end of the negotiation period, they'd moved on to somewhat more trivial matters. Personal preferences. Communications not critical to childcare.

“I ask that I am the first to be notified upon the egg's laying and hatching.” The King tapped the table for emphasis. He held all the confidence of a man making what he found a reasonable request.

“Besides my midwife, you mean.” Herrah crossed her arms over her abdomen. “And any messenger I send to inform you.”

The King did not sputter or pause too long, but the brief flash of something bothersome on his face told enough. The Vessels were borne from him and the White Lady, but she had never shown sign of retaining a midwife. What bug would be trained on how to handle the White Lady's physiology, anyways? “I would like to meet this midwife while I am here, then.”

Herrah nodded. “Of course. She's incredibly qualified. Serves the entire nest, and having worked with her previously, I can attest to her skill. She does often have children in her tow, though, so I will speak with her to confirm a time you two may discuss matters without being distracted.”

They double, triple-checked everything, spent hours working through anything they may have left out. But at last, the Pale King had to concede the negotiations were complete.

He stood, hissing a sigh through his teeth. Rounding the table, he offered a hand to Herrah again. “Shall we?”

She rumbled, taking his hand and, with a swift turn, lifted him up so he pressed against her, shocked to the point he beat his wings trying to reorient. His main sets of legs settled over her sides, arms clutching her neck while she laughed.

“Vessel!” he shouted, so flustered he glowed brighter than usual. He pointed at Hollow, then to a door leading away from where Herrah took him. “Go- go guard the entrance to the den.”

Maintaining an even pace and not standing too swiftly was a struggle. Yet either they succeeded or the King was too preoccupied to notice, and Hollow slipped away, tamping down the relief bubbling up. A Pure Vessel did not care.

Something thumped against the wall, and they let their pace increase until they stood well away from Herrah's quarters, facing out into the chasm of the Distant Village. There, they would wait.


	3. Commune

In the days that followed, they neither saw nor heard sign of Herrah and the Pale King. Not until the last day, when the King approached and bade they join the two of them for a meal.

Hollow did not need Soul at the moment, but as asked, they sat beside the King and found something to bite into and drink the glowing substance out of. Herrah watched them, fascinated. She muttered a comment on the spiderishness of how they ate, even if they left “too much uneaten,” according to her tastes. The queen of Deepnest seemed to have taken up some of the Pale King's glow; both were tired, but Herrah looked comfortable in it, whereas the King just looked exhausted. His head and shoulders drooped and he hunched in while she lounged in her spot.

“You leave in the morning?” Herrah's question was almost a statement.

“I cannot say for certain, but I expect to,” the King muttered, picking into his meal.

She laughed. “I told you, take the full day. Or at least leave in the afternoon instead. Do you think I begin to bite if you stay a moment beyond when you can leave?”

Hollow did not think about the look he gave her. They focused on the Soul within them, letting it patch up any minor scrapes and nicks they had gathered over the past few days. There was nothing useful in the conversation held beside them, anyways. With all the negotiations accomplished and the King's work hopefully complete, there were few matters for them to turn to.

Still, at the end, when Herrah excused herself and left, the Pale King got his Vessel to lean in close and whispered to them, “Keep an eye on her. I do not know what she thinks I am willing to put up with, but I will not let her find me naive.”

So they stood, left the King alone, and went to follow Herrah.

They found her navigating the village, dropping down towards one of the caverns at the bottom. Though she navigated with silk as well as the ledges, making for a straighter path, Hollow elected to watch until they could confirm she was going all the way to the bottom of the chasm. Then they leaped, cloak fluttering around them as they fell.

They hit the ground not far from her. For their hard landing they found a weapon at their throat – a needle, specialty of Deepnest. They recalled what details they knew of needles, memorized through work with the Great Knights along with their dedicated nailsmith and armorer. Herrah's in particular appeared to be of tapestry weight, equivalent to a greatnail.

“If you threaten me, then get on with it. Let us do battle. If not, then be quieter. The whole damn village will hear you throwing yourself around like that.”

Hollow did nothing. Soon enough, the needle retreated, returning to its sheath on Herrah's back. She stepped back to let them stand, watching for any combativeness. They gave none; their orders had not been to hurt her. They, too, had their nail, but it remained in its sheath.

She turned and continued on her journey, looking back every so often to see if Hollow still followed. “The King's assigned you to me, hasn't he? Afraid for his child, or afraid of the one he put it in?” She ducked under a particularly low ceiling. “Are you as silent as he claims, or will you be reporting back to him when he picks you up again?”

Hollow did not answer. They could not answer. They would not answer. All they did was keep pace.

Herrah led them to a particularly tight tunnel, rocks piled around it to make it smaller than Deepnest's other tunnels. Yet it looked as if it could be broken away to let larger beings pass if the need be.

“Hm. She knew I was coming.” Herrah started into the tunnel, all six limbs touching its walls. “I don't know if it will fit you, but try if you must.”

They did. They fit, though their horns dragged the whole while, knocking rocks loose and showering them with dust. As they went they heard soft singing, growing louder and louder.

They emerged into a small clearing, filled with desiccated carapaces. Countless meals, used to shape the place, scraping and crunching as they walked. A few small weaverlings and deeplings piled along its edges, sleeping and undisturbed by the noise. On the opposite wall, buried into a den, they saw the faint hints of a mask.

Its owner emerged when they and Herrah approached. The mask's eternal smile beamed at them, attached to a large black form. A centipede of sorts? “Herrah,” she said in an almost ethereal croon, “You brought a friend. The tall one.” Her frontmost set of legs reached out for them. “Come here, a simple look is all I need.”

They took it as an order, brushing past Herrah to stand before the centipede. She examined them, making small, interested noises as she turned their head about, brushed their horns, took their hand and marveled at it. They let her give them all the attention she wished.

“Such a pretty thing the Pale King made. Look at them, Herrah. Maybe yours will have a face this sweet, too.”

Herrah hummed, gazing at Hollow anew. She reached up and tilted their chin down so their eyes met. She studied them, as if considering the aesthetic of a painting, her face heavy with thought. “Perhaps. Better this than another wyrm. The shape of their face doesn't look like the Pale King at all, though.”

The centipede gestured Herrah towards her and shooed Hollow back. She and Herrah shared a few whispers, too low for them to catch, but the way they stared at them made it clear what their topic was.

A Pure Vessel did not care about gossip, even if it was about them and right in front of their face.

The two separated in a couple minutes, apparently agreeing to continue the conversation some other time. Herrah gestured to Hollow and the centipede. “Right. And Pure Vessel, Hollow Knight, whatever your name or title is, this is Midwife. Her role in these proceedings should be clear.”

They looked back to Midwife. They did not act on this knowledge – there was nothing to act on. They said nothing – they had no voice. This did not shake them enough to drop their guard for a brief moment.

It was Herrah, taking their hands and pulling them to face her that made their head turn too fast, their eyes lock on too readily. The Queen of Deepnest, Herrah the Beast, ruler of the most dangerous land in the entirety of the sovereign states' territories, paused for a couple breaths. She scrutinized them, then her gaze softened, and she rested their hands on the folds of her abdomen. Small scars dotted her shell, giving it a rough but not abrasive texture, and her own warmth contrasted the unending cold of the Void that formed them. Pulled in this close, they saw the discolored, healed patches of broken carapace at her sides, indicative of two limbs lost.

“Despite what the Pale King may wish, and heir or not, this will be a child of Hallownest, too. I do not know if you are made to truly do anything for Deepnest, Vessel, but under those grounds, I ask you to keep them safe. Not to coddle them, Deepnest's queens and sires are not like Hallownest's nobility, but Hallownest is not empty of threats. I'd prefer them seeing you as family than the Pale King.” She shrugged. “We'll see how it goes with the White Lady.”

Family.

They did not move until Herrah pulled away, but as they straightened up the word echoed within them.

With a stab of guilt, they realized they _wanted_ it.

The idea of it hurt them, dredged up the sibling they had seen fall into the abyss. Perhaps the one who would have been chosen as pure. Perhaps one who was actually Pure.

They pushed the thoughts away, chained them down where they could not resurface. No. A Pure Vessel was just that – pure. Perfect.

A guardian for all. Including siblings.

Hollow accepted Herrah's order.


	4. Mother to Mother

It was not that attempt that produced a viable egg, but the second. A messenger arrived at the palace two weeks after Hollow and the Pale King left. The King, the White Lady, and Hollow all listened as the messenger told the tale. A miscarriage. She wished to try again as soon as possible.

The White Lady sent the messenger back with the sincerest sorrow for Herrah's loss and the promise her husband would return soon. The Pale King said nothing, either too shocked to act or uncertain what he could say. What could he say, especially in the face of the White Lady's pain, drawn to the surface in tandem with Herrah's? The White Lady asked Hollow to accompany her to her gardens over the weekend one morning while they trained, and by evening, she whispered her apologies and rescinded the instruction.

After that, they saw her less than usual, all the way to the point they and the Pale King left for Deepnest again.

Again, Herrah found them after she and the King accomplished their task. She led them away from the village, away from Midwife, even, bringing them to an isolated perch where she could watch over most everything in the chasm.

And there, she mourned, not caring at all about the emptiness of her company. Or, maybe, only indulging her grief because of it. She mourned her loss, both of the clutch and of the time she could have spent with her child. The time lost was a matter of weeks, but all of it was precious, every last second.

As far as Hollow knew, the Pale King went unaware of Herrah's will, her request for Hollow to keep her child safe.

He also went unaware of the effort they imposed on themself to not look out for another messenger in the months that passed. They trained alongside the Great Knights, nail and Soul flashing through arenas and impromptu battlegrounds all around Hallownest. They accompanied him and the White Lady to the gardens, to Monomon's Archive, to meetings with Watcher Lurien. They overheard whispers of issues within the Soul Master's Sanctuary involving missing bugs, and the King's grumblings about a traveling circus who had set up in Dirtmouth. From the sound of it, he had a personal issue with the troupe leader, and nobody knew what exactly had transpired between them.

He gave them a choice of tasks to accomplish that week. One of the three involved going up to Dirtmouth. Hollow had long ago mastered these tasks. If there was a two-thirds chance of not going to Dirtmouth, it was mere chance, not the wish to avoid something that would bother the King, that they walked to Ze'mer to join her in diplomacy with the Mantis Village.

It had not been long since they returned when the doors to the palace slammed open. Kingsmoulds stared after the figure in the doorway, the light of the palace beaming straight in her face, in contrast to the muted environment outside.

Herrah met Hollow's gaze and strode in on wobbly legs.

They stepped up to offer her an arm, acting on a long-standing order to provide physical assistance. She ignored them, instead snapping at a retainer to ask where in the fuck the Pale King was.

Hollow slipped ahead of her and, for once, led instead of followed. Herrah accepted that; the voiceless Vessel communicating where to go via the only means they had was apparently an improvement over them trying to help her stay upright.

The two made their way to the throne room, where the last round of hearings on a case had finally come to a close. Both the White Lady and Pale King jolted at Herrah and Hollow's sudden appearance. The King's grip on his throne tightened and he leaned forwards, waiting to hear what she had to say. The White Lady simply watched.

“The egg is laid. Congratulations, King, you're one step closer to being a sire.” Herrah held her arms out, as if daring him to come down and confront her. Hollow stood at her back, hands on their nail.

“Since when?” He jumped from the throne, hurrying to her and Hollow. Behind him, the White Lady stood and walked to them, slowly, ponderously.

“How long does it take to walk here?”

 _“Herrah!”_ The Pale King's voice shot up in octaves. He reached for her, hesitated, hands still held up and trembling as if he debated whether to return them to his sides or throw them in the air and start a screaming match.

She dropped her arms, staring him in the eye. “You wanted to be the first to know besides Midwife.”

“Or a messenger-”

“It is a gift to hear good news within the palace walls again,” the White Lady said, stopping beside her King. She nodded to Herrah, almost a bow, her tendril crown so close to the Beast's horns. “I was going to have some tea. Would you honor me by joining?”

The invitation set the gears of Herrah's mind turning. She mulled the invitation for a moment, slowly listing toward Hollow. But she straightened up and returned the White Lady's nod. “If you'd like.”

The White Lady reached out, touching Hollow's arm. “Come along, Pure Vessel.”

Hollow trotted after them. They spared the Pale King no glance – a Pure Vessel did only what was ordered of it. What could he do, anyways? There was nothing wrong with Hollow accompanying the Lady and her guests, they had done it before. He did not regularly join the Lady anyways.

The heavy sigh he gave indicated he had decided to decompress by slinking off to tinker with something.

Not quite an hour later, the light, herbal scent of tea filled the air. Snacks dotted the table in the center of the room, a variety of small plates designed to appeal to a range of palates and dietary needs. Herrah had sunk into the seat offered to her, the White Lady resting with a similar but less drained ease. Hollow sat beside them, staring at the empty space at the other end of the table.

One day, would their sibling sit across-

No.

A Pure Vessel asked no questions.

“Really, you don't mind me borrowing your husband?” Herrah raised her teacup, taking a brief swig. Her head tilted back as she luxuriated in the drink. Earlier she had mentioned using honey in her tea while home in Deepnest, offered to bring some next time she came to the White Palace, and grumbled about how she'd been craving honey for months. For now, simply having something to consume seemed enough for her.

“He did what must be done.” The White Lady set her cup down to pick up a berry tart that was absolutely delicate in her hand. She nibbled at it, then crunched into the crust, careful not to cover everything in crumbs and berry juice.

“Mm. So he did. It's tragic, isn't it, what he's got me doing for you-” She sat up, enough movement Hollow could reasonably turn to look at her. They did, and she faltered. “Your Vessel. Can't believe they're going to be gone one of these days, and three of us with them. I should see about meeting the other two at some point, if we're in this together.”

They did not meet the White Lady's rueful gaze; they had seen it well enough already in glimpses all their life.

“I hope you have plentiful time with your child,” the Lady said in a near-whisper, her eyes sliding to the teapot.

Herrah put her cup down to sit up more and start speaking to the White Lady. But Hollow moved, picking up the teapot to refill the Lady's cup, then Herrah's.

“...Thank you?” Herrah clearly did not know what to think of their behavior, and glanced at the Lady as if she would provide an answer. Alas, the Lady, eyes shining, stared at the grown Vessel, who had returned the teapot to its place and pulled their limbs in close again.

“My dear Wyrm has never been certain on how to handle the Vessel acting autonomously. He claims it's all from some previous order or another, and, I suppose, it is meant to be true. A thing with no mind cannot decide when to act.” The White Lady took a contemplative bite of her tart, averting her eyes from Hollow.

They pushed down the fear of discovery, of the ensuing incredible disappointment. All would be well. All would be well, once they excised this tumor from their mind.

Herrah harrumphed, a sound between a grunt and a hum of deep thought. But she, too, turned her attention away, to the White Lady. She took her tea and rested back in the chair, one hand on her abdomen, still slightly softened and stretched by the egg she'd so recently laid.

“So,” she said, “I suppose your husband and I talked it out, but if I'm going to be leaving you my child when I'm gone, we ought to talk the arrangements ourselves.”

“Yes, that would be for the best.” The White Lady glanced at Hollow again before bringing up the points the King had relayed to her all those months ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herrah does not know when to stop, so it seems.


	5. Born From A Wish

After Herrah's visit, the palace settled into a tense anticipation. Few knew what exactly the royal family awaited. Far more gossiped about Herrah's appearance, about why the Beast deigned to appear in the White Palace. A litany of comments echoed through the palace, many calling Deepnest a haunted grave filled with monsters, led by the queen Beast herself. If attitudes did not change by the time the child came to the palace...

No. No speculation.

Hollow did everything not to wait. They sought forgetfulness, as if they could fade the memories like clothes in the river. They trained, and served, and stood at the royals' sides. They saw, and did not watch, heard, but did not listen.

Did not think.

Did not hope.

Did not feel.

Not until the next messenger arrived. That day, they waded through crowds of retainers and nobility, here to listen to the King's next proclamation on Hallownest and the infection. The scent of strong tea hung in the palace like a mist, as did chatter in the air. Smaller bugs parted around Hollow's legs, a few unfamiliar faces staring up in awe at The Hollow Knight, Pure Vessel, Savior of Hallownest.

The creak of the door opening attracted no attention, not at a time like this. Yet Hollow spotted the round head and many eyes of a Weaver and began to drift towards them.

The Weaver bobbed between bugs, whispering apologies and ducking away from the unnerved and, in some cases, disturbed flinches they got. They ran to Hollow with relief, sighing when they stood before them. With a shallow bow they said, “I bring news from Deepnest.”

That got the nearby nobles talking, leaning in as if to catch whatever was keeping the King so occupied, what in Deepnest had dragged him repeatedly from his station. More and more eyes turned the Weaver's way.

Hollow turned and strode through the crowd, the Weaver close at their heels. Bugs parted out of necessity, closing fast behind them and driving the Weaver even closer, to the point Hollow felt their feet catch on the trailing end of their cloak.

They walked into the King's room with no announcement, no pretense. He still knew it was them, their shadow looming on the wall. He read through a spidersilk scroll, marking corrections even at this last second. “Ignore whoever ordered you here, return to the main foyer.”

“Pale King,” the Weaver started. They dared to take a couple steps towards him, away from Hollow, but all but the one limb they used to gesture towards him remained tight to their body. A very unwilling messenger; had it been an emergency? “I, ah-”

The King looked over his shoulder, eyes glittering in the light. He rolled up the scroll and turned so slowly the Weaver began to tense, as if waiting for him to try and strike. “Herrah...”

The Weaver bowed again, deeper this time, arms and legs all fidgeting. “Her egg hatched. She requests your presence immediately. I fear something is wrong, but my queen would not tell me what.” Their voice wavered, a shudder passing through them.

“Something wrong...” the King muttered, glancing away to study something else, something pointless, so he could focus harder on the matter at hand. Something too wrong meant the deal started all over again, and there was only so much time. The infection passed at a crawl now, but it did not stop. He knew it wouldn't. Final preparations took years, and could only take place once all the Dreamers were secured. Plenty of time for it to run rampant.

Plenty of time for Hollow to fail.

“She will have to wait. I have a duty to accomplish. One speech should not create a fatal delay.” He waved Hollow and the Weaver away, muttering about how this entire situation was damnable, how this child now tied into Hallownest's fate and that was too much power for one spiderling and its mother.

The Weaver stammered. They backed into Hollow, only to squeak at the cold carapace against their back and stumble forwards, staring up at them with a new light in their eye.

This did not bother Hollow. It could not. They had a place to be.

This place was at the King's side, hands on their nail, gazing out over the crowd as he spoke. Glances stole their way throughout, in particular when it came to the update on them. Yes, still a grand and fine Pure Vessel, as according to the King. Training progressed well, and soon they and the Infection would be sealed away.

Do not stare at the crowd.

Do not retain the King's words.

A Pure Vessel knows no pride, no relief, least of all at their own purity.

The speech could not be over – it ended soon enough. They exited the stage alongside the King, standing between him and the nobility. Somewhere among the crowd the Weaver shouted, trying to garner their attention again.

Hollow waited outside the King's room while he replaced his cloak with something more suitable for travel, and through Deepnest at that. When he emerged he gave their wrist a sharp tug and the two ducked away for one of the side exits. Somewhere nobody would be looking for them. For once, the King's reclusive reputation proved a benefit – few would expect him to appear again that evening. Only one servant knew where he was going, one told to go inform the White Lady of what happened and let the Weaver know they could return to Deepnest, their duty done.

The cloak Hollow wore was not meant to be worn anywhere but the Palace, but one cloak was a worthy price to pay in the face of Herrah the Beast's potential ire and the sight of Deepnest's heir.

They had never gone from the Palace to the Village so fast. The residents swarmed the pathways between the suspended buildings, dancing close to Hollow and the Pale King. A few dared to call out their questions, hoping for answers now that he was here, and perhaps Herrah would be okay with informing her people now. One called out congratulations to the new sire of Deepnest. That got a chorus of hissing and spitting.

The Pale King entered Herrah's den before Hollow could make it all the way up. They did not care. The villagers avoided them as they leaped about anyways. There was nothing to be concerned about.

As soon as they reached the entrance to the den, they searched out the first sign of voices and dashed, their body dissolving into shadow. Time was of the essence, something was wrong, was it not?

They entered the room and immediately Herrah was in their face, pulling them down so their head was level with hers, her fury and concern boring into them. In her arms laid a tiny bundle, maybe the size of a tiktik.

“See?” she snapped, turning to the Pale King. He had never looked so confused and flustered in Hollow's life thus far, and that included Herrah propositioning him. “The child I bore is a Vessel! They have all the same traits!”

What?

Their guard collapsed, kicked out of place by Herrah's accusations. Thoughts and questions and emotions flooded them. The Beast had borne a Vessel, without any exposure to the Void? Another child, lost to its influence. What did the spiderling look like under the silk receiving blanket wrapped around them? Would Herrah let them hold the newborn?

The Pale King stepped up and started to speak, trying to justify himself. Herrah cut him off with a hiss, shifting the spiderling in her arms as she undid the blanket.

Hollow did not step around to see better, did not lean forwards, did not do more than track the motions she made.

She unveiled a white mask-like face first, dotted with two small horns that nonetheless dominated the child's head. They would be just like Herrah's some day, when they were older. On the underside, for one who knew where to look, were the thin seams and joints betraying the presence of chelicerae, just like theirs. Similar to Hollow or another Vessel, yes, but many bugs had white faces.

The pure black body she uncovered next is what chilled the air. That, combined with the white face, gave little question as to what had happened. Especially when one parent was the deathly pale of a wyrm and the other was a steely grey-blue. What's more than that was the child only had four limbs. Not the eight of a spider, nor the reincarnated wyrm's numerous ones. 

“I did nothing to it,” the Pale King said, backing off with his hands up.

Herrah did not take that for an answer, closing the gap between them until he stood his ground and so did she. “Then why,” she growled, “does my child look like this? Like your Hollow Knight? Tell me, King, will they grow up without thoughts, a will, or a voice? What will happen to Deepnest with me gone and a Vessel in its place? What am I to do, order them to adulthood and competency?”

“Even if it somehow is a Vessel, the majority of them fail- they have a personality of their own. And again, creating a Vessel is a process, one only two others beside myself know. The Hollow Knight is exceptional.” He gestured to them, chest lifting in offense and pride.

“My concern is not their exception, it is my child's life!” Herrah towered over the King and now she took clear advantage of it, making a point of staring down at him, letting the tip of her needle flash in the light of beeswax candles.

“Has the child cried? Kicked and squirmed?” The Pale King began to reach for the spiderling.

Whether or not he intended to make Herrah back off by doing so, he succeeded in it, and soon she was out of his face, turned with him and Hollow to her sides. She bounced the child, glancing down at them as if waiting for a response. Yet it seemed the child was asleep, and had been the entire time.

“My baby hatched,” Herrah muttered, studying the child all the more closely, “And settled as soon as they were swaddled. I heard breaths, but no cries. And the Vessel... they breathe, don't they?”

“Yes. But the movement is only noticeable when they are severely injured, and I have never heard them make a sound. So your child cannot be a Vessel, because you heard them breathe.” The Pale King did keep the pleading tone down in his voice, though he could not resist another step towards mother and child.

Herrah backed up into a seat and she lowered herself into it, sighing. She shifted the infant, holding them closer to her chest, snug in her arms. The dim lighting, painting Herrah and the infant in its warmth as they settled into their first night as mother and child, threatened to stab envy into Hollow's empty throat. They pushed it away, drew upon their order. Protect the heir of Deepnest.

They moved to stand beside Herrah, drawing their nail to rest it in front of them, its tip against the floor as they took up their guarding stance. The Pale King would know now about Herrah's command, or at least suspect of it. This did not matter to a Pure Vessel.

She looked up at them only long enough to confirm they were no threat, her gaze settling back on her sleeping child. She stroked their face, small and rounded. At this point, it was impossible to tell if they would resemble Herrah or the Pale King more as they grew – the horns pointed in a clear direction, the shape of the eyes another, irrespective of any other traits that lie in wait. From the song Herrah hummed, it did not matter, so long as the child grew up loved.

The Pale King dared approach again, this time managing to close the gap. His eyes followed Herrah's, at first staring back at her and then trailing down to the child. His child. A true child, not like the ones who swarmed out of the Abyss, the lives drained from them and replaced with Void.

“Herrah?”

She eyed him, raising her chin to meet his humbled introspection.

“May I hold them?”

His arms dipped with the child's weight. Awkwardly, he shuffled them until their head rested on his shoulder. Swaddled in their silk-white blanket, they almost blended in with him, save for the ivory tone to their face, mismatched against his cold, blue-tinted white. He patted their back and began to pace, whispering to them. Hopes and wishes, apologies, every thought that came to his mind, so it seemed.

It was while he stood in the center of the room, swaying softly, that he looked back to Herrah and, almost guilty, stepped towards her. He would have the child so much longer than she.

She shook her head when he approached. “Let your Hollow Knight hold them.”

Confused, the Pale King turned to Hollow, readjusting his grip as he prepared to transfer the child over. He gave them one more long glance before he had to focus on giving Hollow orders. “Hold your arms like Herrah did. No, move that one up a little – not too tight, ensure they can breathe.”

At last he deemed their waiting arms acceptable, and deposited the child in them. He lingered to ensure they did not cause any harm (they would not, could not) before retreating to Herrah's other side, watching from the safety of the shadow of the Queen's attention.

The small bundle weighed so little, and was so minuscule in their arms. They could practically hold the infant in one hand against their chest. Their shell, still soft and malleable (soon to dry if they were indeed a bug, but the process would take years for a true Vessel), accepted the gentle press of their fingers and limbs, sinking in ever so slightly. The child didn't feel as warm as most bugs did on contact, Hollow realized. Did they still live?

The twitch of their mouthparts answered them. As they and Herrah and then the King watched, the child nuzzled closer to them, the soft roundness of their belly and the angles of their limbs snuggled against their chest.

As they had seen Herrah do, they brushed the child's face with their thumb, as if trying to clear off one of the remaining spots of egg.

The child reached up and clutched their thumb. Their minuscule fingers got nowhere near closing around Hollow's, small and soft yet determined as they were. This child, their sibling, tried to tug their hand closer with a whuff of effort.

Hollow's heart shattered with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, Silent Hill, still haunting me after all these years.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I love reading and replying to your comments and seeing folks enjoy the story! I will at some point start posting the post-game fic. I'm still figuring out whether I'm going to do a two-chapter-per-week update schedule for it or what, plus figure out how many weeks' worth of stuff I already have written.
> 
> Turns out the answer is 17 chapters thus far. Which gets me at least 8 weeks, more if I stick with two short chapters or one long chapter. So that might get posted sooner than I thought.


End file.
